What Becomes of the Broken Hearted
by Cyloran
Summary: Iolaus tries to help Hercules deal with the loss of Serena. Takes place immediately after the episode Judgment Day.


"Herc? Herc! Wait up!"

If Hercules heard, he gave no indication. The demi-god continued to stride ahead as if the damned of Tartarus were close on his heels, his long-legged strides eating up the miles in a fraction of the time it would take an ordinary mortal. Or even an extraordinarily fit one, like Iolaus.

"HERC!"

Already more than a mile away, Hercules rounded a bend and was lost from sight.

"Hercules," sighed Iolaus, softly now, his tone anguished.

Panting, Iolaus reluctantly forced himself to pause long enough to catch his breath. It wouldn't do either one of them any good if he fell over from exhaustion. The small stitch in his side that had begun after the tenth league of enduring this breakneck speed was now a burning agony that threatened to cripple him.

How long could Hercules keep up the grueling pace? How far would he go before he'd finally exorcised his demons? How far _could_ he go?

"I wish you'd let me help," said Iolaus to the empty road.

But Hercules had shut him out, choosing to bear Serena's death alone. He would share nothing of his agony with his friend. Instead, he spent the days in sullen silence, pushing tirelessly forward toward some unknown destination. In the evenings, he barely touched his food and stared into the fire, wrapped in solitude as he relived the recent past.

Iolaus had seen Hercules like this once before, during that terrible time when Hera had destroyed his first family. His grief and anger had nearly destroyed him then, but his love had ultimately prevailed. Love endured still, for it was in tribute to his dead wife and children that Hercules began his hero's journey in earnest.

But now . . . now his grief was magnified two fold. Serena's death did more than open old wounds; it had carved a newer, deeper pain in Hercules' heart and soul. Although he wasn't the one to wield the knife that murdered her, Hercules believed himself just as guilty of her death. If he hadn't fallen in love with Serena and married her, she would never have attracted the interest of his enemies. If not for him, she would still be alive.

The guilt and the agony of Serena's loss were eating Hercules alive, tearing away at his soul and his reason for living.

Watching his best friend putting himself through such torment, day after day, drove a knife of pain into Iolaus' own heart. It hurt like Hades to stand helplessly by as Hercules endured his grief alone, but he'd shut Iolaus out as completely as if they were total strangers merely sharing a road together. But no matter how much Hercules ignored him or tried to brush him aside, Iolaus refused to yield. Hercules could treat him like a block of stone, for all he cared. Iolaus would rather die himself than abandon his best friend in his time of need.

"Well, well, well. Lookie what we got here, boys!"

Startled, Iolaus turned toward the gruff voice then blew out a martyred sighed. Lost in his own thoughts and weary from trying to keep pace with Hercules, he'd made a novice warrior's mistake and let his guard down. Now he found himself facing a knot of very big, very ugly looking men with murder and mayhem on their very tiny little minds.

"Hi fellas," said Iolaus as he casually assessed the odds. Seven bandits, one Iolaus. Easily no contest, if he'd been well rested. The operative word being, If. "Nice day for a stroll."

"Sure is," agreed the leader with a gap-toothed smile. "For us." Pointing with the business end of a spiked club, he roared, "Get 'im!"

"Hey!" Iolaus jumped back and drew his sword from its sheath. "Anyone ever tell you it's bad manners to point?"

"No," replied the bandits in unison as they rushed forward to the attack.

He had to keep going. Had to keep pushing relentlessly forward. Because stopping meant having the time to think and to feel. Stopping meant facing himself and what he'd done - and what he had not done.

But Hercules couldn't escape the demons any more than he could flee the memories, haunted by the good with the bad. No matter how hard he tried to distance himself, he still saw Serena everywhere, in everything. The scent of her favorite flower, carried on a zephyr wind. The way the sunlight warmed his body, reminding him of her touch as she lay beside him in their marriage bed. The faint tracks of a doe across the road, calling to mind golden horns and hooves. Or the thorns that tore at his palm as he ripped brambles aside, the pain dull compared to the agony in his heart.

_Serena!_

Driving himself relentlessly forward, Hercules paid little attention to where he was going or why. His feet moved of their own volition along the hard-packed dirt of the road, one step after the other, carrying him ever onward.

The road eventually brought him out of the forest and onto the crest of a hill. Here he paused, not because he was tired but because his feet simply stopped of their own accord, as if uncertain of where next to turn. From the hill top the road split into two paths; one to the east toward another stand of trees and the second southward, wending its way down the gentle slope to a shallow valley and the small village nestled within.

From here Hercules could see small figures moving among the fields of gold and green, their voices carried to him on a light summer breeze. He could hear the laughter of children at play and the yapping bark of a dog. In the valley below, life went on the way it was meant to. Peaceful and serene. Work and play. Families and friends. Home.

_It could have been mine_, thought Hercules sadly. _Ours_, he corrected himself, as if Serena could hear the longing within his heart. Perhaps she could.

He felt a breath caress his cheek and, startled, turned. But no auburn haired beauty stood there, watching. Only the breeze, heavy with the perfume of flowers, ruffled his hair; not slender fingers. And yet, in that briefest of moments, Hercules thought he could feel Serena standing with him; around him.

But no, that wasn't possible. Serena was dead and gone and he was left alone once more.

_Not alone_, sighed the breeze, warm and sweet. _Never alone_.

The wind shifted and blew from a different direction, carrying away the distant laughter of children and bringing instead the faint sounds of metal clashing upon metal. A hoarse cry of anger, answered by one of pain.

As if waking from a dream, Hercules turned in a full circle and was genuinely surprised to find himself alone on the hill. The one constant in his life was missing from his side. Before Serena; even before Deianeira. He'd left it somewhere behind, blindly cast aside and ignored like a familiar old cloak.

_Iolaus!_

"Missed me!" Iolaus darted to the left and narrowly avoided the loss of his head on the bandit's follow-through. The tip of the blade came close enough to nick his throat as it whizzed past, drawing blood.

Four of the seven would-be robbers lay sprawled haphazardly across the roadway, unconscious or incapacitated. The remaining three circled Iolaus like hungry wolves looking for an opening to bring down a lame stag. Iolaus warily moved with them, trying to keep all three within sight. Warm blood ran from scores across his right bicep and left breast, clear signs to the enemy that he was weakening. He hoped that the sword gripped tightly in his hand was an even clearer sign that he had no intention of going down easily.

"Come on, fellas. I haven't got all day. I got places to go. People to see."

"Yeah?" sneered the leader, the spikes of his club already stained with his opponent's blood. "Only person yer gonna be seein' is Hades hisself!" he proclaimed as he charged. His two companions rushed forward at the same moment.

"No thanks," replied Iolaus, jumping to the right and ducking the heavy club. "I'm the last person Hades wants to see right now." As the leader stumbled past, Iolaus spun and kicked him hard in the small of the back, sending him flying. "Just ask Charo--OOF!"

The remaining bandits slammed into Iolaus at a full run, throwing him off balance and knocking him backward off of his feet. Iolaus hit the ground hard, jarring the breath out of him. Too slow to recover, booted feet stomped down on his wrists, pinning him spread-eagled to the road.

"Hold 'im steady, boys!" The leader scrambled to his feet and reclaimed his weapon. He savagely kicked Iolaus in the side just for the joy of it then scowled when no sound of pain rewarded his efforts. Glowering, he raised the club high overhead. "Any last words, tough guy?"

"How about, GOOD BYE?" snapped an angry voice from behind.

"Whu-huh?" The bandit leader turned and blinked in surprise a split second before a heavy, gauntleted fist smashed into his face. His arms jerked up, tossing the club high into the air as the rest of his body flew backward and slammed into a tree 20 feet away.

Hercules snatched the falling club and with a single blow struck the swords out of the hands of the men standing over Iolaus. They stumbled backward with shouts of pain and fear.

With a whoop of joy, Iolaus shoulder-rolled onto his hands and knees. Snapping his legs up and back, he kicked the man to the left hard in the groin, earning a high pitched scream and dropping him like a rock.

The remaining bandit took one look at the dark expression on Hercules' face then promptly turned on his heels and fled for his life.

"Perfect timing," said Iolaus with a weary grin. "Wait until I get rid of the really hard ones first, then come to the rescue."

Hercules grimly extended a hand. As he pulled Iolaus to his feet, his gaze skimmed over the shallow wounds on his friend's arms, chest, and neck. "Are you alright?"

"Never better." _Now._

"Iolaus . . . I don't know what to say. Other than, I'm sorry."

"What, for this?" Iolaus casually waved it off. "This is nothing. You should have seen the other guy."

"Not just for this. For everything," said Hercules, his voice filled with regret and self-recrimination. "For the way I've been acting. The way I've been treating you. You deserve better."

"Hercules . . ."

"No! Don't say it's alright, because it isn't!" he exclaimed, hands clenched into fists. "I've been so wrapped up in myself and my pain, that I've ignored everyone around me. I let myself forget there are other people that I care about who are still with me, like my best friend. That's not right."

"Maybe not," said Iolaus gently, carefully searching for the right words to set his friend's heart at ease. "But that's what grief does. You can't control it. It controls you." He gave a little shrug. "That's just the way it is."

"Still. I'm sorry, Iolaus."

"I know."

"I never meant to shut you out. I just . . ."

"Hercules," said Iolaus as he laid a reassuring hand on his friend's muscular arm. "You don't have to apologize to me. Sometimes there are things a guy's got to work through on his own. I understand that. Really." He offered a wry smile. "That's what best friends do, you know. Try to understand."

"I know hurt you."

"You didn't. Well, okay, maybe a little bit, but only because it hurts me to see you in so much pain and not knowing what I can do to help."

"You do help," insisted Hercules in a voice filled with gratitude. "More than you can know. All of my life, you've always been right there when I needed you." He offered an apologetic smile. "Even when I think I don't."

"Yeah, well, like I said, that's what friends do," replied Iolaus, blinking hard to ward off the threat of tears. "You'd do the same for me, right? Right! Because you're u my /u best friend. The best friend I've ever had, and I'm not about to trade you in any time soon!"

"I haven't been much of a friend lately."

"No, you haven't," agreed Iolaus with an impish grin. "But you'll make it up to me."

For the first time since Serena's death, Hercules actually smiled. "You're right," he promised, clapping a hand on Iolaus' shoulder. "I will."

_Disclaimer: Several bandits went clubbing during the writing of this story._


End file.
